Page 86 of Knot Unwanted: Part One

And if my hands still shake slightly as I help him plate the sandwiches, he doesn’t mention it. Just slides one in front of me with that bright smile that makes his eyes crinkle, and starts telling me about the time he accidentally used ghost pepper cheese and “nearly killed poor Stone.”

I find myself leaning into his warmth as he talks, letting his presence anchor me in this strange new reality where omegas can say no to alphas, where kindness doesn’t come with conditions, where safety might actually be possible.

Chapter 26

Stone

We sit in silence, listening to the sounds drifting from the kitchen. The clink of plates. Cabinet doors opening and closing. Finn’s voice, lighter than I’ve heard it in…I can’t remember how long. My fingers dig into the leather armchair as he laughs at something—an actual laugh, not the careful one he’s been using with us lately.

Across from me, Jax sits unnaturally still, his jaw working. Only someone who knows him well would notice the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against his thigh. Ren hasn’t even bothered trying to sit. He paces behind the couch like a caged tiger.

“Someone should be in there,” he says, voice low enough that it won’t carry to the kitchen. “What if she does something?—”

“She won’t.” I cut him off before he can finish the thought. Before he can voice the fear we’re all fighting—that the terrified omega might hurt our Finn. “You saw how she looked at him.”

Like he was salvation itself. Like he was the only safe thing in a world full of threats. The memory of her wide eyes and trembling form makes my chest ache. What did they do at that Academy to make her so afraid?

The sound of running water makes us all tense. Dishes being washed? Or…

“If she tries to run…” Ren’s voice holds a growl.

“Then Finn will handle it.” Jax’s tone brooks no argument, though his foot is now tapping an unsteady rhythm that might leave a hole in the floor. “We have to trust him.”

Trust him. Yes. But it’s so hard to just sit here when every instinct screams to protect, to guard, to go in there.

A soft laugh drifts from the kitchen—not Finn’s this time. Higher, sweeter, though still hesitant. All three of us freeze, straining to hear.

“…can’t believe you actually…” Her voice is barely audible, but something in it makes me stir. That scent from earlier floods my memory—honey and vanilla.

Ren’s pacing stops abruptly. When I glance at him, his nostrils are flared, pupils dilated as his throat moves. He’s remembering it, too.

“Don’t.” Jax’s warning is barely a whisper. “We’re not discussing that. Not now.”

Not while she’s so frightened. Not while Finn is being protective. Not while everything feels so precarious. But we all know what we scented. All recognize how impossible it should be.

The sound of butter hitting a hot pan makes my stomach growl, reminding me that none of us have eaten. We’d been too worried about Finn, about the strange omega he was harboring, about what it all meant.

“He’s happy.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Listen to him.”

We all do, their hearts no doubt clenching as hard as mine at the sound of Finn explaining his “perfect flip technique” with an enthusiasm we haven’t heard in months. Maybe longer.

“When’s the last time…” Ren starts, then trails off. We all know what he means. When’s the last time Finn sounded so…free?

The cheese hits the pan with a sizzle, and Finn’s delighted, “See? Perfect!” carries clearly to us. My muscles tense, wanting to go to him, to bask in that joy we’ve missed for so long. Beside me, Jax shifts in his seat, a tiny movement that betrays his own struggle.

“Something’s wrong with us,” Ren says suddenly, stopping his pacing. When we look at him, for the first time in what feels like hours, the rage in his eyes is gone. Now he looks troubled. “Our omega is in there, happy for the first time in…and we’re out here feeling like we’re being punished.”

“We’re not being punished,” Jax says, but there’s uncertainty in his tone. “Finn’s just…”

“Protecting her,” I finish quietly. “From us.”

The words hang heavy in the air. Because that’s what hurts the most, isn’t it? That Finn feels he needs to protect someone from us. That he doesn’t trust us with this fragile, frightened creature who smells of sunshine and honey and…

No. Not thinking about that scent. Not now.

Another laugh from the kitchen, this one deeper—Finn again. “No, no, you have to press down harder than that. Here, let me…”

The sound of movement makes us all tense. Are they touching? How close are they standing? My fingers dig deeper into the leather as I imagine Finn guiding her hands, showing her how to press the sandwich properly. The domesticity of it aches somewhere deep in my chest.

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